


Eyes Are Soft With Sorrow

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Future Fic, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mourning, loss of a parent, married zimbits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-06
Updated: 2016-12-06
Packaged: 2018-09-06 21:00:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8769151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "Jack’s heart twisted in his chest when he realised all of those firsts, were lasts, too."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Major warnings for this fic: Processing grief and loss of a parent, and discussions of mortality.
> 
> Basically I'm working through some grief. I lost my dad this year and this is the first holiday season I'm spending without him, so I'm taking out some of my feelings on some fic. Please don't read this if this topic is triggering for you.

It took Jack a second to realise Eric’s hands were shaking too hard to manage the key, but when he did, his long fingers closed over his husband’s and stilled them. With careful motions, he took the large key, pushed it into the lock, and opened the door.

It was cold, a blast of chilly, winter air hitting them right in the face, and Jack could smell a breeze coming, probably from the kitchen window. He looked over to see Eric tugging his coat around his body tighter, hugging his middle, and he sighed. “How long has it been empty?”

“Since uh.” Eric blinked, slow, sluggish, his words drawling, heavy with his accent. “September. Right after um. Right after.”

Jack nodded. Made sense. When they got the call, Suzanne was already at the hospital, and it had taken them a little too long to charter a flight and get down there. Eric Sr had already been moved to the morgue by then. Eric was shaking, crying, confused, holding his mother, so it was up to Jack to get the details. He was pronounced dead on arrival, Eric’s dad. They’d attempted to revive him, but it had only been a cursory attempt.

Suzanne had mentioned something about staying with her sister in Atlanta, and Jack could tell from the look on her face, she probably wouldn’t be setting foot back on the Madison property again.

It was mid-afternoon. December now, the chill in the air clouding Jack’s memories of this place. Fourths of July spent in crop tops and shorts, watching Bitty man the kitchen, Coach man the grill, and the kids running around hyped up on too much sugar. Mimi had taken her first steps here, in the living room, walking from Eric’s hands to Suzanne’s. She’d broken her arm out on the trampoline which caused Eric to put a lifetime ban on, “That darn death-trap.” 

Jack was pretty sure Mimi got to jump whenever Eric wasn’t around, but they all kept pretty quiet about it, and Eric was the sort who could live with it, so long as he didn’t know.

Jack’s heart twisted in his chest when he realised all of those firsts, were lasts, too. Suzanne had put the place on the market. She had movers coming to pack it up. Eric and Jack had been asked to go through it, to take what they wanted, what they needed. Eric had things here—childhood things, baking heirlooms, he didn’t want lost or broken.

But it had taken this long before he could bring himself to set foot back in this place, and Jack wouldn’t be surprised if they had to leave. It was a lot for him, and he couldn’t imagine what this was doing to Bitty.

“Bud?” Jack said, when he turned and realised Eric wasn’t there. “Are you…”

His words were cut off by the slamming of a window, then the dull thunk, and heavy, musty air pouring out from the vents on the floor. Jack shivered at the sudden warmth, then turned to see Eric heading back from the kitchen.

“Surprised she left all that on,” he said, his voice thick and tight. “She knew we were comin’ though so…”

Jack had been with Eric long enough to read him, to anticipate what he needed, to act before Eric ever had to ask. He opened his arms and gathered Eric to his chest and was utterly unsurprised by the sudden sobs pressed into his sternum. He said nothing. It was better for the both of them, really, because right now wasn’t Jack’s place to cry. Right now was Jack’s turn to just hold Bitty and let him work it out because a person didn’t get over losing their parent in the span of weeks, even if they had to grow up and be adults and take care of things like this.

So.

“Thanks,” Eric mumbled, and Jack smiled, cupping his cheeks, swiping some of the tears away. “It’ll probably happen again.”

“C’est oké. What I’m here for, eh?”

Eric smiled, then glanced out the window. “Lordy it’s gonna snow. You wanna grab those boxes, honey, and I can start going through the kitchen. Mama said the movers will be here Wednesday and I don’t want to linger if I don’t have to.”

Jack nodded, and tried not to think about how that had to feel. Strangers putting everything Eric had known—everything from his childhood, no matter how dark it had been—into boxes, taping them up, and stuffing them into a storage bin until who knows when. Because Jack didn’t think Suzanne was going to be able to handle any of it any time soon. If at all.

Jack could easily envision himself and Eric stood out front of a stuffy old storage unit with a lifetime of boxes to sort through after they put Suzanne to rest beside her husband. And yes, it was morbid, but the last few months had forced Jack to face a lot of things he wasn’t sure he’d ever be ready for. Staring at Coach’s coffin in the church gave him an image far too clear of his own parents, and the thought that someday—sooner than he wanted to think about—it would be his turn to walk this road and crisse but he wasn’t sure he’d be remotely as strong as Bitty had been all this time.

He popped the trunk of their car, pulling the boxes they’d picked up at Home Depot, along with the bag of bubble wrap and tape. Eric hadn’t anticipated wanting to take a lot. He had a short list of things his MooMaw had left him, and there were photos he wanted. A few things from his room which, to this day, had remained relatively untouched by the years.

A cold gust of wind hit Jack, his knee twinging a little, and he tried not to think about his own, inevitable mortality. He was just wrapping his mind round the idea of retirement which was looming overhead. But at least with that, he could comfort himself in the idea that he’d have more time for his daughter, more time for Eric. More time to exist in love and present with his little family they’d spent years building.

Death, on the other hand, was the opposite of that. It was pain and it was loss and it was permanent.

He did everything he could not to envision Mimi’s face if his precious princess had to deal with the death of a parent. Crisse, it was so much. Too much.

Jack jumped nearly a foot in the air when his pocket began to buzz, and he fished his phone out, dropping the boxes into the slushy, dead grass. He stared at the screen, and it took him a second to process.

Kenny.

“Everything alright?” He was paranoid now, like at every turn his life was going to fall apart more and more. Coach was Eric’s dad, but they’d been together fifteen years and fuck, Jack had loved him like a father. The loss was raw and visceral and wrong.

“Just wanted to check in. Mimi’s skating with Lyosha right now, so I thought I’d grab a second. How is he?”

“Better than I would be,” Jack said honestly.

“And you?”

“Waiting until we’re done to fall apart,” Jack admitted. “Rather not talk about it, though.”

“Yeah. Just…call me, eh? If you need anything,” Kent said. “If you need to say shit you can’t say to Bits.”

Jack sighed into the phone, but it was a sigh of gratitude because there were things Jack was feeling that he couldn’t tell Eric because it was too damn unfair of him to put that burden on his husband who was still hurting so much. “Thanks.”

“Yeah. I’ll let you go. Mims wants to call later though.”

“Yeah, yes, of course. Kiss her for me.”

“I will. Later.”

Jack pushed his phone back into his pocket and picked up the boxes. Only one was soggy—possibly not ruined, but they had enough so he wasn’t worried about it. He made his way into the house and found Eric in the kitchen just…staring at the counter. He didn’t acknowledge Jack, but he reached under the counter into a cabinet when Jack began to tape up the boxes, and he came out with a few ceramic baking dishes.

“MooMaw never used these. Said she was waitin’ for the pope.”

Jack chuckled, and remembered the death of Eric’s beloved grandmother all too vividly. It was less of a shock, though. She was old, she was weathered, and the previous thanksgiving had told Eric, “I’m ready to go join your pop pop.”

Eric had told Jack later that night he didn’t think she’d live to see Christmas. That year Christmas and Chanukah had been too close, and they’d agreed to spend it in Montreal with Bob and Alicia. They were lighting the candle for the third night when Eric got the call.

He’d been sad. He’d regretted not going, but it hadn’t been like this.

Coach had still been young. They thought he was healthy. No one knew.

No one expected it.

Jack set a few of the boxes on the floor, then took the dishes from Eric and began to wrap them. He was nestling them into the first box when he heard a thunk, and he turned to see Eric collapsed against the counter. His knees were drawn to his chest, arms squeezing them, his chest heaving with sobs all over again and Jack wished he could rip the universe apart and pull Coach back from wherever the hell he’d gone because seeing Eric in this much pain and not being able to _do_ anything about it was slowly tearing Jack to pieces inside.

But they’d been here before. It had been like this the last few months. Usually Eric was fine but there were moments he just couldn’t take it. And the holidays were coming and it was the first time Eric would have to face them without his dad and Jack loved Coach enough to know the pain. The loss. The sheer emptiness.

Jack slid to his knees once the sobs died down, and gathered Eric into his lap. He took a moment to appreciate that in fifteen years Eric still fit there as well as he did when he was a college student, barely getting his bearings in the adult world. Jack’s hand drifted up and down Eric’s spine, his nose buried in his hair, and he breathed him in.

“I love you,” he said, because he couldn’t tell Eric, ‘it’s going to be okay.’ And he wasn’t going to tell him, ‘it gets easier,’ because Eric wasn’t an idiot—he already knew that and hearing it just made him feel worse. “I’ve got you,” is what he said instead of all that.

Eric let out a small, wet laugh and wiped his face on the front of Jack’s shirt. When he lifted his head, he met Jack’s gaze and let out a shaking sigh. “Am I gonna get through today?”

Jack shrugged. “I don’t know. But we have time. Kenny just called and said Mimi’s doing just fine, and no one’s coming in here until Wednesday. Like you said. If we need to leave…”

“I wanna try,” Eric whispered.

Jack nodded and used the sleeve of his shirt to mop up Eric’s face a little. “So let’s try. And you tell me if it’s too much.”

Eric eventually climbed out of Jack’s lap and they finished the kitchen. They only filled a box and a half, which was what Jack was expecting. The living room was off-limits. Too many photos, too many of Coach’s things. His favourite afghan was still lying on the back of his recliner and Jack knew the moment Eric realised it, because Eric sucked in his breath and his knees went weak.

Jack grabbed him before anything could happen, and they managed to make it up to Eric’s bedroom before Eric broke down again.

The bedroom was dusty and stuffy, so Eric threw the window open, and Jack had a tiny sneezing fit before it was aired out. But eventually they got a few more boxes taped, and Eric began to throw a handful of things in.

“Can you grab the frames off that shelf?” Eric asked, nodding to his hanging bookshelf.

Jack headed over, and plucked one down. It was one of Eric figure-skating. “Your mom take this one?”

Eric looked over, then laughed. “Yeah. She has a good eye. That was the year I quit.”

Jack’s finger traced over the figure of Eric. It was an Eric he didn’t know. An Eric troubled by the kids at school, making him feel like he didn’t belong, like he was wrong for being who he was and loving who he wanted to love. But there was a fire in his eyes then, that he still carried, and it made Jack smile.

He carefully wrapped the frames in the bubble wrap, and Eric added a few of his old yearbooks, and a couple of t-shirts, and a handful of CDs which Jack had to chirp him for.

“Do we even own anything to play those on?”

Eric rolled his eyes as he pushed Smashing Pumpkins in between two skating trophies. “My laptop, thank you very much. It’s vintage now.”

Jack groaned. “Just when I thought I couldn’t feel older.”

Eric set the box on the floor, then grabbed Jack’s arm and yanked him to the bed. It had a bit of a musty smell, but the duvet was soft and the pillow was nice under Jack’s cheek.

“Our first time was in this bed,” Eric whispered. He drew his curled knuckle along the outline of Jack’s nose. “Momma and Coach had gone out for supplies. I couldn’t keep my hands off you.” Eric’s hand travelled to the expanse of Jack’s chest, down his stomach which was definitely less taut and defined than the twenty-five year old him.

“That was a nice trip,” Jack said, and leant in to press several, small kisses to Eric’s lips. “For a little while I thought between you and the heat, I was literally going to combust.”

Eric laughed. “Thought the same thing. I kept thinkin’…I kept thinkin’ I wish I could go back in time and tell that fourteen year old me that it gets so much darn better. The skinny teen who curled up in the back of his closet to try and hide a black-eye, that I was gonna not only get to kiss boys, but the hottest, smartest, most amazing boy in the whole world. And I’d get to do it anytime I wanted. For the rest of my life.”

Jack cupped Eric’s cheek and kissed him long and slow. Eric pushed himself against Jack’ closing his eyes. “I think, deep down, that Eric knew good things were going to happen to him.”

Eric pushed his face into the crook of Jack’s neck and sighed. “I don’t want to say goodbye. I don’t…I’m not ready to let him go.”

“Don’t,” Jack said. “You don’t have to. Bits, these are things, and some are coming with us—things you can share with Mimi. Other stuff are going to be put into boxes but they’re not leaving. And you’ll never…he’ll always be your dad.”

Eric sniffed, crying a little, but it was less of the gut-wrenching sobs that had plagued him earlier. When he pulled back, his eyes were red-rimmed, but softer, his mouth less tense. “I know. I know, sweetheart. And I knew this day was going to be hard. You’ve…you’ve been amazing. I know you’re hurtin’ too and I’m…you can talk to me.”

Jack shook his head and he knew his smile was off—it felt off—but it was still there and there was love in his eyes. “I’ll deal in my own time. I loved him, bud. I did. But I can be strong for both of us right now.”

Eric closed his eyes for a while, then sighed and pushed himself up. “Let’s get this over with, okay? I think I just need to be done. To know this part’s over.”

Jack nodded, and he helped Eric off the bed, and together, they managed to get it all done just before sunset.

*** 

They were staying in a hotel in Madison proper, the nicest place Jack could find. The boot of the car was filled with the boxes, and a handful in the back seat. Eric still had the keys to the house, but his next stop would be to send them in a box with a few other things to his mother in Atlanta. She’d turn them over to the realtor, and before long the place would be empty, and sold, and ready to give another family a chance at thirty-three years’ worth of memories.

In bed, Jack held Eric close. They’d had their nightly chat with Mimi and Kent, and promised to meet them at the Providence airport in four days. Mimi was back to begging for a cat, and Kent was back to laughing and chirping them for refusing to get a pet until Jack retired.

It was late now, near midnight, and neither of them were any closer to sleep. But they were holding each other, and it was dark, and the air was cool. It was the most peaceful Jack felt since they’d got into the car and began the drive, and when Eric lifted his face to push a kiss to the bottom of his chin, he gave his first, real smile.

“Are you okay?”

Eric sighed. “Yeah. I mean…I think if I had to do this last month, I’d have been a bigger wreck. I’m not going to wallow in denial. I know he’s gone. And I think next year will be easier. Your parents, at least, will be a nice distraction for Mims. Hopefully she won’t get too melancholy.”

Jack hummed. Mimi had taken the death hard, but only at random moments. Initially she hadn’t reacted at all, and it wasn’t until she remembered that Coach would never be at another one of her game again that she broke down. She was fine shortly after, but the moments came in spurts, and Eric was worried enough to send her to a grief counsellor who told them it was perfectly normal.

“Kids her age process loss differently than adults,” she’d explained after talking with Mimi. “They don’t possess the life experiences we do, of previous loss, so they only really notice it when there’s a direct impact on their lives or on their routines. Since your father,” she said, nodding to Eric, “didn’t live with you, it’s not going to make an impression until she connects it with something he used to be actively present for.”

It made sense, and at least put them at ease knowing she was processing, even if it was differently than they expected it.

Jack worried, of course. Their daughter was sensitive, and when she did cry and did ask why her pop pop had to die, he didn’t have the words. And only a few weeks ago she called him into the bedroom asking, “Is Pépé gonna die too? And Mémé? And grammie?”

Jack swallowed and tried to give her the easiest answer he could. “Yes, but probably not for a very long time. Okay?”

She nodded, then crawled into his lap and pushed her face into his neck. “Are you and daddy, too? And Kenny and Lyosha?”

Jack sighed. “That’s not something you need to worry about, coucou. Okay? We’re here with you right now and that’s all that matters.”

That, of course, created a panic. What if saying that made it worse? What if something happened to him, or Eric, or Kent or Alexei and she remembered him saying that and it made the trauma that much harder to process. Eric told him he was being silly, but he still made the call to the therapist who told him it was perfectly fine to deflect these questions until either a therapy session, or until he and Eric were in a place they could objectively speak to their child about death.

Jack still wasn’t ready for that. It was still too much.

He sighed, pressing a kiss to the top of Eric’s head when he felt his husband’s breathing even out, and deepen. He probably wasn’t all the way asleep just yet, but it was close enough to be restful, and that’s all that Jack could hope for right now.

He didn’t think he’d be able to do much more than this—hold Eric, and close his eyes, and try to float through it. But it was enough. It had to be. They didn’t really have a choice now.

When the holidays passed, it wouldn’t feel so heavy. Jack was going into playoffs, Eric’s bakery would stay busy, and before they knew it, it would be summer, and Mimi’s birthday, and vacations. When the next year rolled round, they’d have processed their grief. They’d be sad, but it wouldn’t be that crushing, suffocating feeling of emptiness in the shape of Eric Richard Bittle Sr. They wouldn’t be staring at an empty recliner wondering why the world had to be that awful.

Maybe, even, Jack would stop seeing death around every corner, and worrying that every phone call would be another moment where someone he cared about had been ripped away.

He shivered, then brushed his lips along Eric’s temple. Tugging the blankets up to his shoulders, he let the moment pass. It was time to move on.


End file.
